


Doomed

by courtneythenerd



Series: Your Words on My Skin [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, F/M, Historical Inaccuracy, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Self-Harm, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-22
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-03-07 22:17:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13444557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/courtneythenerd/pseuds/courtneythenerd
Summary: It means that all the talk of Aaron being “afflicted” from long ago was not actually wrong. It means that Aaron is doomed in a way that he can scarcely imagine.Aaron’s not prepared to face that man--to face the damnation that the man will bring them both. He’s not prepared at all.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [justyouwaitforit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/justyouwaitforit/gifts).



> The idea for this fic actually came from a comment on my fic "Where There Remains But a Mark," left by user @justyouwaitforit:
> 
> "now I have a few angsty ideas of burr having a mark of Laurens or Hamilton’s words {or maybe both} and it being unrequited"
> 
> Thank you. Because I'd had that idea too, but didn't think anyone would like it. I am encouraged by your shared interested in angsty Aaron/John/Alexander. 
> 
> I do some heavy fiddling with the time line, because even I find history to be entirely too sad.

At 19 years old, Aaron Burr is truly an original.

“Original” being the more evolved way of referring to him. When Aaron was younger, Aaron’s sister used to tell him that if he’d been born decades prior, townsfolk would’ve considered him cursed or afflicted in some way. Aaron’s situation would been seen as an aberration of sorts, something to be rectified.

It’d already happened in a rather disconcerting way; the words didn’t fully appear on Aaron’s skin until Aaron was nearly 13.

But God blessed Aaron, giving him the gift of being born in 1756, in an era where your soulmate’s words are a well-researched topic, and people are less likely to jump to such strange conclusions.

Aaron is still a fascinating case for most, though. There are very, very few people on this Earth that have two sets of words.

The two sentences are both a little lengthy; they’re vertical and run parallel on Aaron’s right calf. And there . .  well, if Aaron is being totally honest, they’re both a little confusing.

 _If you stand for nothing, Burr, what do you fall for?_ Those were Aaron’s first words, the ones that appeared just before Aaron’s 13th birthday. If Aaron is being honest, it was a bit embarrassing; they appeared so black and bold almost like someone drilled pitch black ink into Aaron’s dark brown skin.

More than that, they were so confrontational. Aaron didn’t believe in the notion that all women were to be meek. His sister and aunt definitely disproved that. Yet and still, Aaron had a hard time imagining a woman asking him such a pointed question. And he certainly can’t imagine anyone who asks that kind of question would fall in love with him. Or that he’d fall in love with her.

But then the second set of words appeared on Aaron’s 13th birthday. They appeared more gently, softer on the skin and in the message they carried.

_I’m not going anywhere just yet, Aaron. I’m here for a while._

That makes more sense for a soulmate, although it’s not exactly the most comforting thing to say. It appears that, at one point, Aaron may come close to losing this person.

This _one_ person.

There had been much debate surrounding that theory, as well: that Aaron’s words meant he had more than one soulmate. As far as Aaron knows (or is concerned) it is impossible for him to have more than one. The idea that he could is speculation, and it’s ridiculous speculation at that.

Aaron may be unique, but he is not so odd as to have more than one person attached to his soul.

Although, Aaron isn’t so focused on these things anyway. He and his brother-in-law have graduated law school and have returned to New York. Moreover, there are rumblings of war--of revolution--in the air. Aaron must be prepared for whatever happens next.

A soulmate can wait.

**

Later that year, revolution is all but guaranteed, what with the way citizens are shouting.

Aaron can’t _focus._ Not like this, with half of his colleagues running around claiming that they want to join the Continental Army. They’re basically children who have an idea in their heads that they can rush into a war and win. It’s ridiculous.

But it is tempting. Aaron doesn’t necessarily like to admit that to himself. But, it is very tempting indeed.

Mostly because he’s met some . . . _interesting_ characters. There’s Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette, a Frenchmen who, through his thick accent, manages to cram a plan for French independence into every sentence he speaks. He has wild hair that he’s somehow managed to keep in tight bun on the of his hair, and a disposition that tricks people into thinking he’s harmless.  

And there’s an huge, hulking man called Hercules Mulligan. He’s a tailor’s apprentice, although the sight of such a broad, dark man gently stitching a tear in a pair of trousers is more than a little amusing to Aaron. Aside from his textile craftsmanship, Mulligan’s becoming famous for stealing horses, making inauspicious comments about espionage, and not allowing any of his friends to do what he does.

They’re close, Aaron notices. Very close. Other men murmur about Lafayette and Mulligan, but neither of them seem to care. Aaron can’t tell if they’re very focused, brave, or just plain dumb.

Yet, as interesting as they are, Aaron knows better than to befriend them. He can respect them both--from afar. He expects them to do great things if they manage to not get themselves murdered. Which, they both have at least a chance of.

Unlike their other friend.

Aaron doesn’t know much about John Laurens. He knows Laurens is 21. He knows that Laurens came from a rich family in South Carolina. And he knows that, for some reason, Laurens will not return to that rich family.

Laurens seems obsessed with war. With revolution. With doing enormous, impossible things. Aaron would find it amusing if he weren’t so sure that this man will die.

Or, at the very least, this man will end up on the wrong side of the wrong people. A couple of days ago, Laurens got into a very spirited debate on the the state of chattel slavery and how using native Africans as slave labor was the equivalent of “painting ourselves with their blood.” Laurens had argued with _three_ people in the middle of the square; the only reason Burr even paid any anything was because he’d _heard_ Laurens.

Lauren’s face had turned red, making his light brown freckles stand out even more. His long, curly brown hair had taken on a life of its own and moved wildly as Laurens punctuated his sentences by punching his left fist into his right hand.

It was all a bit much for Aaron. And yet he never could stop watching.

Call it morbid curiosity, but Aaron often wonders what will become of John Laurens. Laurens often talks about the possibility of joining the Continental Army, but he doesn’t seem quite as ready as he’d like everyone to believe. His father, Henry Laurens, would be ecstatic if the younger Laurens joined. It’s one of the things Aaron _does_ know about John, despite not having too much interest in learning it.

Laurens wouldn't be good for it, anyway; he has this big ideas that Aaron knows will fail.

Aaron knows that _he_ might be good for it. Aaron can see himself with a command, a strategic leader among the forces. Actually, it would probably be a pretty smart move. Aaron wants to excel, to become what his parents would’ve wanted. Wartime--and success during wartime--has a way of helping that along.

It’s tempting. It’s very tempting.


	2. Chapter 2

Three weeks after Aaron’s 20th birthday, his entire life--and any hope for a life thereafter--is destroyed.

It’s all because of one man. One loud, obnoxious, socially inept man.

“Pardon me, are you Aaron Burr, sir?”

Aaron should’ve said no. He should’ve lied. Perhaps if he had, the man would’ve walked away and kept walking away.

“That depends: who’s asking?”

The man’s eyes had lit up, and he stood up straighter, like someone had zapped in the back.

“I’m Alexander Hamilton! I have been looking for you.”

He made Aaron nervous. That should’ve been a sign. Right in that moment, Aaron’s relationship with Alexander Hamilton should’ve ended. It should’ve never began.

But Alexander was bright and eager and he _wanted Aaron_. He wanted Aaron’s attention and advice. And Aaron, foolish as he is, couldn’t resist. Aaron told himself that Alexander would make a fine lawyer or politician one day.

So he listened to Alexander talk about Princeton, about punching the bursar (Dear Lord, he punched the _bursar_ ,) about being orphans. This man really talked about being an orphan to Aaron, a complete stranger. And Aaron had indulged him. He went against every bit of good sense and judgement he had and indulged this strange, overwhelming man.

Because he _saw_ Alexander Hamilton. Aaron saw the potential, the obvious intelligence, the glint in his eyes. Aaron saw all these things and something _grabbed_ Aaron. Something grabbed in the center of his chest and it took all of Aaron’s strength not to collapse in the middle of the street. It twisted Aaron’s stomach into knots and sucked all of the air out of Aaron’s body.

For the first time in a very long time, Aaron had to focus on keeping his face still, on not portraying a single emotion. It was a skill that Aaron seemed to have been born with, but he suddenly needed to work at it now.

At some point, Aaron finally interrupted Alexander. He did something else he usually doesn’t do: he said the first words that came to mind.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

Alexander, surprised and pleased: “That would be nice.”

They started to walk, slowly dawdling like they had all the time in the world.

Alexander smiled. Aaron really didn’t want this man to die.

“And while we’re drinking,” Aaron said, each word taking extraordinary effort, “can I offer you some free advice?”

Alexander nodded. Aaron looked over to Alexander and gave him the most professional, bland smile he could muster.

“Talk less,” Aaron had said with fake confidence. “And smile more.”

Alexander had tilted his head. He frowned and looked at Aaron as if Aaron had suddenly grown another head.

Alexander was the one that stopped walking, and Aaron had no choice but to stop with him.

“Just,” Aaron had continued, “try not to let everyone know what you’re against and what you’re for.”

“You . . . can’t be serious.” And Alexander . . . he’d _looked_ at Aaron.

He’d looked at Aaron as if Aaron disappointed him. As if this complete stranger he met mere minutes ago was meant to mean something to him. It’d irritated Aaron. But, more than that, it’d saddened him.

“You want to get ahead?” Aaron had hardened his voice, stood up even straighter than before.

Alexander nodded. “Yes.”

Aaron sighed. “My grandfather used to have a saying. ‘Fools who run their mouths oft wind up dead.’”

Alexander had startled, looking at Aaron as if he’d just cursed. He didn’t say anything, which made Aaron feel good. He’d looked at Aaron as if Aaron had betrayed him, and that, perversely, made Aaron feel even better. He suddenly wanted distance--as much distance as humanly possible.

But he wouldn’t get it. Everything that was going totally wrong suddenly got much worse with the sound of a loud, familiar laugh.

John Laurens.

John Laurens with Hercules Mulligan and Marquis de Lafayette.

Aaron had wanted to disappear. And, for a moment, he did. Alexander seemed enamored with the trio, and they seemed enamored with him.

Alexander and Laurens had begun to talk, and it looked to Aaron as if everyone around disappeared.

Aaron should’ve walked away by now. But he couldn’t. It was like he was . . . _anchored_ to that spot. He was standing close to both Alexander and Laurens and it was like they were both weighing him down without laying one finger on him. Aaron had no other reason for standing in that spot.

Eventually, Hercules Mulligan had looked over to Aaron, and there was trouble in his eyes.

“What’re you thinking, Aaron?” Mulligan had asked, giving Aaron the most “innocent” look he’d been able to muster.

Aaron hadn’t actually been listening, but he got the gist of the conversation: revolution. It was _always_ revolution.

“I’m thinking I should wish you good luck with that,” Aaron had muttered softly. “You take your stands and I keep my peace. We’ll see where we land.”

Hercules snorted and Lafayette let out a loud, discouraged groan. Laurens .  . . he’d rolled his eyes, and he wore an expression on his face that told Aaron that Laurens expected nothing else from him.

But it was Alexander. It was Alexander that destroyed Aaron.

“If you stand nothing, Burr,” Alexander said slowly. “What do you fall for?”

Aaron’s heart stopped.

He said the words. The words that he had no way of knowing, because he’d just met Aaron and was a _man_ from some abandoned islands. Alexander Hamilton had just said the words Aaron had expected to hear from some emboldened woman. He’d just said those words in front of three idiots in the middle of a filthy sidewalk in an overcrowded city.

And Alexander didn’t even know it. He didn’t even realize what’d he’d done.

**

Aaron doesn’t know how he got himself away from them. He can’t repeat what he said to excuse me himself.

All Aaron knows is this: he left them talking on the sidewalk. He saw Alexander and John gazing at each other, and then he left. He came home, and he vomited.

Aaron sat down on his bed and wondered what would be the quietest, most efficient way to kill himself. Then he remembered what his grandfather said about those who commit self-murder and decided he didn’t need to create more damnation for himself than what was already sure to come.

And now, Aaron, having written a letter of intent, is packing a few bags.

He’s made up his mind. Aaron’s joining the army. And he thinks he knows where he’s going first.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know French.

Quebec is a failure.

It’s not Aaron’s failure. Aaron manages to do more than survive--he excels. Colonel Arnold tells him often that he’s impressed by Aaron’s “spirit and resolution.” By the time Aaron’s escorting General Montgomery to Quebec, he’s been named aide-de-camp.

It’s the success he’s dreamed of, when he’s had spare time for dreaming.

So, no, it’s not Aaron’s actions that make Quebec a failure. It’s the fact that General Montgomery’s gunshot wound in his neck bleeds more than Aaron or any other soldier can help. It’s the fact that Aaron isn’t able to drag the body off of the battlefield without risking getting bullets in his own back.

Aaron has to leave General Montgomery. And, worse than that, he has to leave Quebec. His brother keeps trying to cheer him up, writing letters about how Aaron’s sure to be aide-de-camp on Washington’s staff when he gets back mainland. It’ll be an honor, Aaron. Really, it will be. General George Washington is the modern model of a major general.

Aaron doesn’t want to go to Washington’s staff. That’s where _he_ is.

In fact, that’s where they _both_ are. Aaron’s soulmate. A wild man who’s attached himself at the hip to another wild man. Aaron wants no part of any of it. Not at all.

Aaron can’t get mad at his brother--he has no idea that Aaron’s perverted. It’s not as if Aaron’s told anyone about who said his words.

Aaron knows full well what it means for him that his words have assigned him to a man. It means that all the talk of Aaron being “afflicted” from long ago was not actually wrong. It means that Aaron is doomed in a way that he can scarcely imagine.

Aaron’s not prepared to face that man--to face the damnation that the man will bring them both. He’s not prepared at all.

Quebec was supposed to be an escape from that. But General Montgomery is dead in the ground, and Quebec is a failure.

And Aaron is a soldier. That life cannot be left behind.

**

He doesn’t see him much. He doesn’t see either of them much. And for that, Aaron is eternally grateful.

When he _does_ see them, they’re together. Alexander Hamilton and John Laurens. Always by each other’s side. Which is perfectly good for them, Aaron thinks. They _deserve_ each other.

Aaron focuses on the war. Battle plans and strategies, rationing clothing, food and drink. Watching his back, and occasionally having to watch Lafayette’s back.

It’s all perfectly fine for Aaron. Most of the time.

They settle in a big house surrounded by smaller cabins. Aaron has a room to himself, somehow. He’s grateful for that, too; there are some nights where he needs to be all alone.

Those are the nights he traces at the words on his calf, reading them to himself repeatedly. Sometimes, in moments of extraordinary frustration, Aaron finds himself digging his nails into them, often to the point of drawing blood. The pain reminds him that they are real and _permanent_. There’s nothing Aaron can do about them.

It’s just . . . if Aaron must be sick, why must it be _this man_ that makes him so? Alexander Hamilton is a walking explosive. There’s no way to be around Alexander and not end up hurt in some way. He doesn’t know how to keep his mouth shut. He doesn’t know how to keep his hands to himself. He doesn’t know when to _stop_.

General Washington’s made him aide-de-camp for some ungodly reason. Alexander is talented, yes, but how can he manage to negotiate supply deliveries without reminding Congress that they’re useless sacks of shit? And those are words Aaron’s heard Alexander use before.

Alexander is Aaron’s opposite in every way. How could he possibly have been chosen as Aaron’s soulmate? An affliction is the only explanation for this!

But it’ll be alright. Aaron’s decided that it will be alright. Aaron has a war to fight that has nothing to do with his sickness. He just needs to follow orders, give commands when allowed to, and make a name for himself.

Aaron can do this. Perhaps he was made to do this.

**

Aaron has never really had a reason to question General Washington’s strategies. While they aren’t always popular, they’ve always ended up being the right thing to do. General Washington has managed to stall British forces while keeping them all alive for the most part. General Washington’s work has been a fine example of military strategy.

But even Aaron has to wonder what the hell General Washington is thinking when he puts Charles Lee in the position of _second in command_.

It makes no practical sense. As much as Aaron hates to admit it (and will never admit it), he can’t help but think that Lafayette would have been a much better pick. Or that . . . even Alexander . . . would have been a much more suitable choice.  

He hears _them_ complaining about it one day. Alexander and John. Sitting on the field, both irritated and heated. John is being loud on purpose; even Alexander is trying at least temper his voice. But John is annoyed and wants to intimidate Charles Lee.

It’s . . . well, it’s kind of funny. Aaron hates admitting that, too. It makes Aaron feel ill.

However, if Aaron is being completely honest, he’s not sure if it’s just the presence of John and Alexander that’s making him feel ill. It’s _hot_ out here--at least 90 degrees out. They really have no business being out here scouting.

This is . . . well, this is . . .

“A stupid ass decision.”

The sudden voice startles Aaron. He whips around to see a very grumpy, very sweaty Lafayette walking over to him.

“I’m sorry?” Aaron asks, watching Lafayette plop down on the ground next to him.

“The look on your face. It tells me you think this is a stupid ass decision,” Lafayette says. His French accent is still pretty thick, but every word against Charles Lee comes out very strongly and clearly.

“Oh. Well, having us out here in this heat isn’t the brightest decision.”

“No, it is not, but I am referring to our dear leader’s choice of command,” Lafayette retorts.

Aaron jerks back in surprise. He’s never heard Lafayette complain about General Washington.

Lafayette looks at Burr and sees that shock on his face. He shrugs and gives Burr a small smile.

“Première fois pour tout,” he says.

Aaron blinks, then snorts out a laugh.

“I suppose so,” he murmurs.

He and Lafayette sit in a comfortable silence. It’s odd how they can do that now; Aaron had assumed that he’d never have a companionship with Lafayette simply because of his relationship with Alexander and John.

Speaking of those two . . . Aaron’s torturing himself. He keeps allowing his sight to fall on them. He can’t hear them anymore, but he can see John’s anger from all the way across the field.

The two of them fit together, Aaron thinks. They fit together much better than he could ever fit with either of them.

Lafayette nudges Aaron’s arm, bringing him out of his reverie.

“What are you looking at, cher?”

Aaron’s eyes quickly dart to the ground, and he silently prays Lafayette doesn’t notice.

“Nothing,” Aaron answers, keeping his voice smooth. “What are you looking at?”

Lafayette laughs jovially. “Our two dear comrades.”

Aaron, caught completely off guard, stares over at Lafayette.

“Um, pardon me?”

Lafayette shrugs again, completely relaxed now, even in this heat.

“They’re funny, no? Good distractions,” Lafayette answers. Then, as Aaron’s watching, Lafayette’s eyes become distant, and his expression saddens. “I need distractions now. Especially with Hercules gone who knows where.”

“Hercules . . . Mulligan?” Aaron asks uncomfortably.

Lafayette nods. “Mon grand imbécile,” he mumbles. He smiles to himself.

Aaron feels his stomach sink. He remembers the first time he met Lafayette and Mulligan and how _close_ they seemed to be. Surely they can’t be . . .

“Lafayette,” Aaron begins cautiously.

“Oui?”

Aaron suddenly can’t remember how he was going to ask what he’s about to ask.

“Do you think . . . do you think that it is possible to have the wrong words on you? That they can be a mistake?” Aaron asks. He feels very small and childish.

Lafayette’s mouth twitches and, for a split second, his eyes darken. But then he sighs and smiles languidly at Aaron.

“I used to, Aaron. I was convinced of it, actually. But not anymore.”


	4. Chapter 4

Charles Lee is a mass murderer.

500 of their own men die in the Battle of Monmouth. And it’s because of the _heat_.

112 degrees. Too hot to move, let alone battle. But Lee thought it was a brilliant idea. He seems to have assumed that British forces would be easily fought. Or maybe Lee just didn’t think at all.

Aaron doesn’t remember fighting. Not really. He remembers shooting, but he can’t say if he hit anyone.

He remembers running . . . running towards the British, right? It’s foggy. Everything is so foggy.

Aaron remembers a pain in his neck, branching up to the top of his head. He remembers that very clearly.

He got nauseated. At some point, he vomited. Aaron remembers holding himself around his middle, his knees weakened. Aaron remembers thinking that he was dying, and then _wishing_ he was dying, so that this will all be over with.

Everything hurt: all he could feel was constant pain. He remembers being on his knees at one point, rippled by the sudden bursts of confusion, nausea, exhaustion, and hurt. Aaron’s mouth had gone completely dry, and he could feel his lips cutting open. His entire head felt like it’d been stuffed with cotton.

At one point, General Washington yells for Lafayette. Lafayette, cursing, charges forward. And then the shooting stops.

Aaron doesn’t remember falling onto his back. He remembers the pain in his neck from the fall, but not the fall itself. Aaron doesn’t remember nearly anything at all from those last few moments of consciousness.

He just remembers the heat and the pain. And a soft, familiar voice calling out to him.

**

Aaron fades in and out.

He can’t stay asleep, but he also can’t stay awake for very long, either. His consciousness lasts only a few minutes at a time.

Aaron checks out his surroundings a little bit at a time. He opens his eyes and he sees that he’s in the infirmary, and he’s alone. Later, Aaron opens his eyes again to see more bodies, but not nearly as many as he’d hoped. Later still, he opens his eyes again to see the nurse mutter to General Washington to most of them are dead.

Before he fades back out, Aaron can hear another man being brought in. The man’s body is laid in the cot next to Aaron’s.

Aaron hears the nurse walk over to the man, and imagines her peering into his face.

“Oh, my,” Aaron hears her say. Her voice is faint and distant, like it’s coming from the end of a long tunnel. “Is this Henry Lauren’s boy?”

**

John Laurens is what wakes Aaron up.

Rather, John Laurens’s creaky cot is what wakes Aaron up.

John keeps trying to move, despite movement being an absolutely terrible idea at this point. And every time he so much as twitches, his cot makes a noise.

And Aaron would be perfectly content to watch John twitch and squirm. Lord knows Aaron doesn’t have the energy or disposition to be annoyed at this point. But as Aaron’s watching John, he sees something that he knows he doesn’t want to see.

John’s words. Dark and small. On his side.

And Aaron--God forgive him--can’t help himself.

They’re hard to make out: they’re tiny and Aaron’s eyes are exhausted. Even when Aaron can see them, it takes a while for them to process in his mind.

But then he reads them clearly, and his stomach drops.

_Laurens, do not throw away your shot._

Well, well. Doesn’t that sound familiar?

Aaron’s never been one for making “educated” guesses, but he supposes that he knows how his soulmate speaks.

Aaron . . . he can’t figure out what he’s supposed to be feeling right now. Hurt? Humiliation? Betrayal? Despair?

How about utter fucking confusion? It was odd enough to have two sets of words. Aaron will never be able to describe the moment he heard Alexander say them.

But now, Aaron’s supposed to believe that his soulmate-- _his_ fucking soulmate--belongs to another? Aaron’s supposed to believe that Alexander Hamilton’s words are printed on John Lauren’s side? He’s supposed to understand that John Laurens is the one that Alexander will end up with?

Aaron Burr is truly a goddamn original.

Something twists itself into a knot in Aaron’s chest. It hurts worse than any heat stroke or gunshot ever could.

But Aaron should be grateful, shouldn’t he? He’d always said that he didn’t _want_ Alexander as a soulmate, that he at least wanted some chance of redemption. And now he has it. Alexander isn’t his, but John Lauren’s. And the words on Aaron’s leg are a mockery to them both.

A wave of exhaustion crashes over Aaron. He’s barely keeping himself awake now. Aaron wants to get up and run; he wants to get as far away from this moment as he possibly can.

But Aaron can’t move. He can barely lift his head. All he can do is stare at John Laurens. He watches John twitch and squirm in his fitful sleep. Then Aaron closes his own eyes.

**

John tries to lift his head, and lets it flop back down with a loud groan.

Aaron knows this because John’s loud groan wakes him up. Aaron looks over at John’s struggling form. A strange combination of exhaustion, relief, envy or hopelessness manifests itself into a soft laugh that escapes Aaron’s lips.

John starts, then he rolls over to face Aaron. Aaron can tell that John shouldn’t have even tried.

Aaron looks at John and smiles. He doesn’t know why; John is probably the last person Aaron should be smiling at. But . . . he feels . . . softened, somehow.

“Hey, you can actually move a little. You’re better off than me,” Aaron says. It hurts to talk, and his voice comes out croaky.

John looks at Aaron with a hard gaze. It takes Aaron a moment to realize that John’s trying to adjust his sight and isn’t staring him down with hate in his eyes or anything like that.

“You’re going to have to tell me what happened, Aaron.” John’s voice is shaky, and he looks like he’s barely holding himself together.

Aaron sighs, and it almost takes all of his energy away.

“Heat stroke,” Aaron answers. “Really bad heat stroke. For some reason, you and I didn’t die. But many others . . .” Aaron feels his throat tighten.

John’s face twitches and his eyes go distant for a moment. Then he refocuses on Aaron, looking weaker than he did mere moments before.

“Did we retreat?”

Aaron almost says yes, but he remembers Lafayette’s wild hair whipping past him, charging directly into British soldiers.

“I think . . . it’s more of a draw,” Aaron says. “Lafayette took over from Lee.”

John closes his eyes.

“Fuck Charles Lee.”

Aaron can’t help it: he cracks up laughing again. John smirks at him, and then closes his eyes again.

Aaron could just leave it here. John could go back to sleep without ever realizing how much Aaron’s life has changed in last couple of hours. It would certainly be safer this way.

But something’s eating at Aaron. Something within him is pushing for him to speak, to . . . stand up for himself somehow? But stand up for himself against _what_? Against his own fate? That’s foolish. It doesn’t make any sense.

But then again, none of this does. Aaron might as well take the chance. It’ll be the last one he ever takes, won’t it?

“Your words,” Aaron says slowly, carefully watching John’s face, “they’re . . . they’re kind of funny, aren’t they?”

John’s eyes fly open, and he looks more alert than Aaron can believe.

“You . . . saw them?” John demands, his voice low.

Aaron goes to nod, and then finds that moving his head that way is too difficult. Looks like he has to talk now.

“When I first woke up. I’ve been sleeping off and on, so . . .”

John looks absolutely petrified. He looks at Aaron as if Aaron is threatening to destroy his entire life. Aaron can’t help but wonder if John and Alexander have already _been_ with each other. It’s the only way to explain the horror in John’s eyes.

Aaron tries hard to keep himself calm. One of them has to be.

“They’re kinda familiar. Like someone I know,” Aaron mumbles.

He wants to hit himself for saying that, but oh well.

“Aaron, they’re--I mean--they’re not--” John stammers. “Can you please just--”

Aaron hates this version of John. As long as he’s known John Laurens, he’s never seen him this scared. But Aaron understands. He deeply understands.

“Calm down, John,” Aaron interrupts. “I won’t repeat them to anyone. Gossip isn’t my forte, anyhow.”

John watches Aaron for another moment, then goes completely limp. John closes his eyes again.

Aaron does the same. He tries to lull himself back to himself. But it’s impossible. John feels too close to Aaron. If Aaron wanted to, he could reach over and touch him.

Aaron’s finger twitches, and his mouth goes drier than it was before. Another question nags at him.

“After the war . . . if you survive,” Aaron starts nervously, “what will you do?”

“I . . . don’t know,” John answers slowly, eyes still closed. “I suppose I’ll go into law. Continue abolition. Try not to ruin my father’s name.”

 _Henry Lauren's doesn't deserve to share a name with you_. The thought comes from nowhere, but Aaron can't fault himself for thinking it. 

“Will you marry?”

Aaron’s asking himself more than he’s asking John; he’s _begging_ for an answer. Every plan that Aaron’s ever had for himself has been unraveled in the past few months, and Aaron is lost.

John says nothing. He just sighs.

 _Yeah_ , Aaron thinks. _Me too._

Aaron wants to _fix_ this--he wants to figure out a way out of this trap. For his sake, as well as John’s. And even Alexander’s.

A voice in the back of his mind tells him that “fixing” it is impossible, that nothing can ever be “fixed” again. But Aaron still has to try.

“Can I offer some advice?” Aaron asks with faux confidence.

“Has saying ‘no’ ever stopped you before?”

Aaron snorts: that’s such a _John Laurens_ response. It reminds Aaron of when they first met. Aaron suddenly feels himself growing more and more tired, even as he tries his hardest to look John in the face.

“Laurens, men . . . men that are like _us_ often have to compromise,” Aaron hears himself say the words distantly. This is _not_ fixing it, but he’s too tired to try to stop himself.  “And there are far worse things in this world than having to compromise.”

Aaron tries to stay awake; something in him wants to see the look in John Lauren’s eyes. But he can’t. Aaron’s weak, and tired, and he has nothing left in him.

Aaron hears himself mutter John’s name. Then he falls asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Charles Lee is a fucking fool.

There’s nothing quite as disgraceful as getting hundreds of your own men killed on the battlefield. Most men would rather die than to see the aftermath of such a massive failure. Aaron genuinely expects Charles Lee to put his tail between his legs and leave while he still has the chance. Pack up and leave the rest of the Continental Army. There’s no way for Lee to save his reputation, but there’s a way to save his own ass.

But Charles Lee is a fool with no sense of self-preservation or any common sense at all.

Charles Lee launches some sort of pathetic campaign against General Washington. He writes letters to every member of Congress he can think of and blames General Washington for the massacre at Monmouth. Aaron overhears that Lee calls General Washington “indecisive” and “unable to left alone to his own devices.” Aaron also hears that Lee suggested that General Washington should go plant tobacco, but Aaron hopes Lee can’t possibly be _that_ stupid.

Whether Charles Lee is that much of a thundering idiot or not, Aaron doesn’t really care. He wants to stay out of all of this. He just barely survived, and he still feels very weak.

Besides, all things pass. Soon enough, Charles Lee will indeed give in and leave. And that will be the end of that.

**

“Burr! _Burr!”_

Burr stirs awake. It’s an ungodly hour of the morning and someone is in his room hissing his name. Aaron is going to kill someone.

When Aaron fully awakes, he realizes that it’s Evan Edwards, looking tiny, ragged and scared.

“Edwards . . . what’s wrong? What’s happening?” Aaron asks groggily, sitting up slowly.

“John Laurens wants to duel Charles Lee! And Lee’s accepted!”

And Aaron is suddenly wide awake.

“You’ve got to be fucking joking,” Aaron growls.

He glowers at Edwards trembling form and realizes that no, Edwards is not joking in the slightest.

“Lee’s asked me to be his second,” Evans whispers loudly, “but I….I can’t talk to Laurens. Or Hamilton. Hamilton’s his second.”

Of _course_ he is.

“Talk. Lee. Out. Of this.” Aaron feels himself go statute still. His skin burns with budding rage.

“I already tried. I can’t,” Evans murmurs, sounding very much like a small child. “And I thought . . . well . . . Hamilton and Laurens are your friends . . .”

Aaron would kill them both if he had the chance. Actually, he would kill _everyone_ if he had the chance.

But, alright. Let’s think through this. Aaron knows that Lee cannot shoot a gun to save his life. John is an excellent shot. Aaron also suspects that Lee is only accepting John’s challenge because he wants to present himself as a “tough” man, and to try to save some sort of face. Aaron _knows_ that John is only challenging Lee because _Alexander_ can’t challenge Lee.

This is for Alexander more than it is for General Washington. John’s willing to put his life on the line for Alexander. Why wouldn’t he be?

As far as Aaron goes . . . he doesn’t want John to end up getting hurt or dismissed from service. Losing John would hurt Alexander. And that . . . would actually hurt Aaron.

Aaron’s words sting. He has no choice.

Evans sees Aaron’s resignation, and he brightens. Then he sees the look of murder in Aaron’s eyes, and scurries out of the room.

**

“I thought you agreed that duels were dumb and immature?”

Alexander’s eyes light up as Aaron addresses him. (They always do that and Aaron wishes they’d stop. It’s distracting to say the least.) Aaron’s been trying to talk John and Alexander out of this foolishness.

He’s been failing, by the way. He’s been failing spectacularly.

“Sure,” Alexander says, staring at John’s back. “But that man’s got to answer for his word, Burr.”

“With his _life_?” Aaron asks in exasperation. “And John has to risk his? Is there no other way? Can’t we just let this go?”

“No,” John calls over his shoulder to Aaron.

Aaron rolls his eyes. Do they _have_ to be so dramatic?

“Aaron, how many died because Lee is inexperienced and ruinous?” Alex demands. “ _You_ almost died because Lee is inexperienced and ruinous!”

Aaron opens his mouth, but then makes a face.

Aaron _wants_ to be logical and mature about this. He wants to explain just how bad of an idea this really is, and how the repercussions of it are not worth whatever potential rewards it’ll produce.

But then he remembers how it felt to nearly burn to death from the inside out. He thinks about how he’s still sick weeks after the fact. Worse yet, Aaron realizes that if he _hadn’t_ suffered heat stroke on the battlefield, he wouldn’t have seen John’s words, and he wouldn’t have realized just how awful his situation is.

When Aaron thinks about this too long, he can’t help but conclude that this is Charles Lee’s fault. And he wants him to suffer.

Aaron sighs deeply.  

“So, we’re doing this,” Aaron says.

He jogs over to Evans and Lee. Lee looks at him with a look of steely determination.

“You’re on.”

Lee’s face falls. Aaron gets a sick sense of satisfaction from it.

Then he jogs back to John and Alexander.

“Are you ready?” he demands, trying to talk over his pounding heart.

Aaron pretends to not see John reach back and lace his fingers with Alexander’s.

“Yes.”

**

1….2…...3….

Alexander looks like he’s going to pass out. He stands too close to Aaron, and Aaron almost wants to run away from him. But they’re both too busy watching John take his steps.  

4….5…..6…….

This is a terrible idea. Nothing good can come from it. Aaron shouldn’t have ever been involved with this because now General Washington will look at _him_ when all hell breaks loose. Aaron should’ve said no. But he couldn’t.

7…..8…..9…..

Aaron watches them. He _really_ watches them. He stares at Alexander’s terrified face and John’s stubborn one. And for a moment--a brief moment--he wonders if it _is_ possible. If two soulmates really is something that can happen to someone. Is two soulmates something that can happen to _him_?

**

“Lee! LEE! DO YOU YIELD?!”

“HE SHOT HIM IN THE SIDE, _OF COURSE_ HE YIELDS!”

“I’M NOT ASKING YOU, BURR, I’M ASKING _HIM!_ ”

“ALEXANDER, PLEASE!”

“I YIELD! I YIELD! I’M _DYING!_ ”

“Man, no you’re not! I didn’t shoot to kill you! You’ll be fine!”

“Yo, you won!”

“OWWWWWW!!”

“Oh my _God!_ ”

“Alright, alright, calm down! Alexander, stop hugging John and help me and Evans get Lee up!”

“Fuck Lee!”

“WHAAAAAAAAAT?!?!”

“ALEXANDER!”

**

Aaron should be more nervous than he is.

He’s standing outside of General Washington’s quarters. General Washington is _pissed_. Which is understandable, considering three of his top men participated in a duel that injured his former second-in-command. John and Alexander put the future of the Continental Army at risk.

So did Aaron, because he decided to be a go-between. Objectively speaking, it is still one of the worst decisions Aaron’s ever made. Maybe what he’s about to do will help fix it.

General Washington steps out of his quarters, and Aaron stands as straight as possible. Washington glowers at him.

“Burr, this is not the moment,” Washington says. “I’m still considering the possibility of dismissing you.”

The words sting, but Aaron does a fantastic job of not letting that show. He steadies his gaze, and tells himself to relax. There’s a voice in the back of Aaron’s head telling him that he can change his mind, and that he can continue to work in the army. Aaron would like to listen to that voice, but there’s no point. None of what it’s saying is true.

“Actually, sir,” Aaron says, forcing himself to keep himself still, “that’s what I want to talk to you about.”

**

“Burr!”

Aaron is being childish: he’s pretending to not hear Alexander call his name. Honestly, he saw Alexander start to follow him when Aaron first walked out of General Washington’s quarters, but he figured that Alexander would just let it go.

But since when does Alexander let _anything_ go?

“ _Burr!_ ”

Aaron storms into his room. All of his clothes are already packed, so now he’s just standing here awkwardly. It’s only then that he realizes that Alexander is walking up behind him. Aaron slams the door behind him. Not three seconds later, it swings open again to reveal a very bewildered Alexander.

“ _Aaron_.”

Aaron flinches. It’s one of the first times Alexander’s said his first name.

“What do you _need,_ Alexander?” Aaron growls.

Alexander’s presence makes Aaron feel exhausted. He can feel that last bit of energy draining out of him, but Alexander doesn’t have to know that.

Alexander looks good, though. He’s glowing, actually. That’s probably what you look like when you are your soulmate’s soulmate.

Alexander opens his mouth, but then he slams it shut and looks around Aaron’s room. He realizes that everything is packed.

“So it’s true? You’re _actually_ leaving?” Alexander sounds . . . hurt.

Aaron sighs. “Who told you that?”

“Jacobs saw you waiting for Washington,” Alexander says. “He apparently couldn’t wait to tell John and I.”

Alexander’s voice is bitter, and Aaron’s stomach falls to his feet. Aaron wants so badly to wrap his arms around Alexander, to tuck his face in the crook of Alex’s neck and just stay there.

“Yes,” Aaron says tightly, “I am leaving. I feel that’s the best thing for me to do. All things considered.”

“All things considered?!” Alex thunders. “ _Why_ ?! I don’t understand you! You’ve been doing wonderfully here. Wasn’t this _always_ your plan? You’re going to quit the army because of a stupid thing John and I did?”

“Well, it’s not as if you and John were alone in your stupidity,” Aaron responds. “Washington wants to kick me out anyway. Besides, I’m still ill from Lee’s attempted murder.”

“Stop sounding so calm about this, Aaron,” Alexander says with a glare.

Aaron swallows the lump forming in his throat.

“One of us has to be, Alexander.”

Alexander blinks at Aaron for a few moments. Then he deflates, as if Aaron took whatever will he’d had left.

“I don’t think you should go,” Alexander says firmly. “I think the army needs you. And hell, after today, I _know_ John and I need you.”

The fear and pain welling up inside of him twists itself to a sick sense of bravery. Aaron puts both his hands on Alexander’s shoulders. Alexander is loose underneath Aaron’s touch, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Aaron smiles wanely.

“No, you don’t.”


	6. Chapter 6

Three months after his departure from the army, when Aaron is 22 and going insane with boredom, he meets her.

He’s staying at this place--the Hermitage? Yes, it’s called the Hermitage. It’s a nice, warm place. Very cozy, very sophisticated. Aaron could imagine his mother spending her time here, reading and chatting about politics, culture and how France compares to the colonies.

Aaron only goes because he’s received an invitation. Something about the host wanting all the American officers and patriots to attend to show that everyone is welcome. Apparently, this place is partially owned by the British?

Aaron doesn’t care all that much. He’s had a hard time caring about too much of anything.

But he goes because he’s heard about it and it’s a good place to study. Aaron’s still in the middle of a higher law degree: originally, he’d planned to pursue a Master’s with his brother-in-law after the war. But none of what Aaron plans ever comes true anyway.

The night he goes, two bigwigs are in the middle of an overly civilized conversation about the merits of international diplomacy. Apparently, they both know Thomas Jefferson, who has spent the better part of two years as the Ambassador to France. They draw a crowd of other bigwigs who either agree or disagree in incredibly polite terms.

Aaron has thoughts on it. He thinks domestic affairs should be put first, and that Jefferson should not be so flamboyant about how much he _loves_ another country. And Aaron would express those thoughts if he weren’t not bored to tears by their conversation. Lately, Aaron has less patience for these types of talks. It’s funny: Aaron’s starting to remind himself of John. And Alexander.  

When Aaron hears someone sit next to him, he doesn’t bother to look at them. It’s only when he hears a soft, feminine laugh that he turns to see a beautiful woman with light brown skin and hair that is nearly black. Her big brown eyes are alight, and her lips are spread into a warm smile. She wrinkles her nose as she watches the two political students talk.

“You are bored stiff. Aren’t you, sir?” she asks.

It takes Aaron a moment to realize she’s talking to him while looking at them. His face burns.

“Oh, no--not bored. Just .  . . tired, is all,” Aaron stammers. He realizes that it’s too late for him to sit up straight and pretend to have control over this conversation.

The woman laughs again, gentle and teasing.

“Mister, I am the hostess of this place, and I’ve been around for a while,” she says. “I know the difference between tired and bored.”

Aaron chuckles to himself. “I’m sure you do.” Then the other part of what she’s said dawns on him.

“Wait--you’re the hostess?”

“I am, indeed.”

“I was under the impression that this place was owned by British forces?”

The woman rolls her eyes. Aaron’s sister would scold her for being rude, but Aaron thinks he likes it.

“They were referring to my husband, unfortunately,” the woman says. She sounds like she’s had to explain this many times over. “James Marcus Prevost. He’s a British officer.”

Aaron is . . . alarmed. Or, at least he should be. And he probably would be if the woman didn’t deliver this news in the most unbothered tone possible.

“A British officer?”

“Yes, sir,” the woman answers. “His name is on the papers, of course, so yes, it is own by ‘British forces’.”

Aaron gives her a small smile. Something about her makes him relax a little.

“Owned by a British officer,” Aaron says, “but, really, this place is yours.”

The woman blinks, then she looks over at him in surprise. It’s the first time she looks at him directly.

“Yes,” she responds, hints of pride in her voice, “I suppose it is.”

“And you invite us patriots to show you’re not a threat?”

The woman chuckles. “I invite you because the government wants to confiscate this place. Let’s see how far they take it with all of you inside.”

Aaron laughs louder than he expects himself too. The woman shrugs and giggles.

“It’s worked so far!”  she says happily.

A very comfortable silence falls over them as the woman turns her gaze back to the debaters. Aaron feels his heart rate kick up, and his face warms.

"I just realized something." 

“What’s that?”

“You told me your husband’s name, but I haven’t had the pleasure of learning yours.”

The woman looks him up and down, and smirks.

“Theodosia.”

**

Aaron makes bad decisions. It’s time he’s accepted that about himself.

As much as he’d like to believe otherwise about himself, Aaron knows that he is not nearly as logical and emotionally-contained as he’d like himself to be, or as he _needs_ to be. If he were, he would’ve never agreed to be second in the duel. And he would’ve never decided to leave the army afterwards.

And Aaron would not be here now, back at the Hermitage, even though he’s perfectly well and has passed his examination.

Aaron can’t be bothered to lie to himself: he’s here to see Theodosia. He’s been here to see Theodosia far too many times in the past four weeks.

He’s retained enough of his former personality to feel pathetic. He could say it’s because the Hermitage is calm, or because soft music plays, or because Aaron can entertain himself by watching young, foolish men pretend that they are old and wise.

But no. It’s Theodosia. She always finds a way to _see_ Aaron. No matter where she is in the room, Theodosia manages to sit next to Aaron and talk, or stand next to Aaron and make inappropriate comments, or to at least look Aaron in his eyes.

She’s just . . . Aaron’s never met a woman like her before. She’s witty, independent, and more knowledge than most men Aaron’s met in his lifetime. Theodosia knows something about everything--philosophy, art, language, music.

Last week, two political students were arguing about the merits of individualistic communities versus the merits of interdependent communities. They were both very passionate and intelligent sounding--and wrong. Very wrong. Theodosia stood next to Aaron and muttered corrections to both of their arguments under her breath. At one point, one of them said something so erroneous that Theodosia had to suppress a groan.

“College must not be very challenging these days,” she’d muttered.

Aaron had bitten the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing aloud. He’s had to do that alot with Theodosia. It’s nice.

She takes his mind off of things. Aaron used to think that was impossible. But Theodosia’s done it.

Aaron . . . would be baffled if he weren’t relieved. He often wonders how many times his common knowledge will be shattered.

The fact of the matter is that Aaron’s completely enamored with Theodosia. But he knows for certain that Theodosia isn’t his soulmate, and he more than likely isn’t hers. Aaron imagines that he isn’t _anyone’s_ soulmate.

As he spends time around Theodosia--even as he feels himself start to fall for her--he can feel an _ache_ in him, one that tells him that his _real_ soulmate is very, very far away and that he might not be safe. That knowledge pulls at Aaron’s core.

Yet, here Aaron is. With Theodosia. Having feelings for her is the first normal thing that’s happened to Aaron in far too long.  Aaron would be _baffled_ if he weren’t so relieved.

Although, he shouldn’t throw himself a party just yet. Theodosia is married, after all. And she’s married to a British officer, a man who, more than likely, is her soulmate. Even when things begin to work in Aaron’s favor, they don’t really work out.

They probably never will. At this point, it’s probably logical to assume they never will. But if Aaron thinks about that for too long, he feels himself . . . _sink_. So Aaron just tries to live his life and stay alive. That’s all he can do.

Aaron is the one thing in life he can control. Alexander, John, and Theodosia are teaching him that.

**

Theodosia seems different tonight.

Aaron practically shoves himself into a corner of the Hermitage’s grand room and watches her drift through the crowd.

Theodosia’s still a wonderful hostess. She’s still smiling, chatting and accommodating her guests. But something seems . . . off about her. She’s not like Aaron’s used to seeing.

(It’s a shame that Aaron’s gotten used to seeing her in any state, but oh well.)

Aaron watches her until she mysteriously disappears from his sight. Aaron frowns to himself--he _just_ saw her. Where could she have gone that fast? Aaron scans the room for her, his eyes falling on nearly everyone else in the process.

A soft, unfamiliar song plays, and the couples in the room begin to dance. Just as Aaron’s getting distracted by a big wig and his wife, Theodosia appears at this side.

“Come with me,” she whispers, “but don’t be very obvious about it.”

Aaron doesn’t have time to fully process what exactly that means before Theodosia’s got a hand on his elbow. She taps it, and, from the corner of his eye, Aaron sees Theodosia glide towards the back of the building. Aaron very quietly follows her.

Theodosia walks through the door that leads to the back patio. She stands by one of the columns while Aaron tiptoes his way beside her. Out here, Aaron just only faintly hear the music playing.

“Theodosia, are you alright? What’s--”

Theodosia turns to him very suddenly, and gives him a wane smile.

“Would you like to dance with me, Aaron?”

Aaron  can’t stop his head from jerking back or the look of suspicion and confusion on his face.

“Don’t you think that’s a tad bit . . . improper? Particularly with your guests here?”

Theodosia snorts. “I believe most things I’ve done in my lifetime are considered ‘improper.’ Besides, most of the people in this house have both seen and done far worse.”

Theodosia holds her hand out to Aaron, and Aaron takes it. He puts his hand on her waist, and Theodosia relaxes; he didn’t realize how rigidly she’d been standing until she was relaxed. Slowly, Aaron and Theodosia begin to sway in time with the music.

“Theodosia,” Aaron asks slowly, taking care to look her in her eyes, “what’s wrong? Is it . . . is there something wrong with James?”

Theodosia gives a soft chuckle. She feels warm and soft in Aaron’s arms.

“I greatly appreciate that you and I have gotten to a point that you can tell what’s wrong with me just by looking at my eyes,” Theodosia says. “It shows that you’re very intuitive. That’s a good trait to have. Most men don’t seem to possess it.”

“You know that I can also tell that you’re trying to distract me, right, Theodosia?”

Theodosia stares at Aaron for a moment, then she sighs.

“James . . . will be governor of Georgia,” Theodosia says.

“Governor? Really?”

“Yes sir.”

“Oh, wow.”

Theodosia smirks. “No kidding. You’re reaction is much better than mine was when I read his letter.”

“So . . . you’ll be going to Georgia?”

“Oh, no! No, no. I’m staying here,” Theodosia retorts. “It’s probably not very wise of me to stay here, but I’m not going to Georgia. Socially and economically speaking, it’s better for me to stay here.”

Aaron nods. Theodosia’s built a solid communal base in New Jersey. Between the business of the Hermitage and the society’s she created here, it is more logical for her to stay.

But: “You would _feel_ better if you go with him. He’s your soulmate, after all. You two shouldn’t be so far apart, right?”

Theodosia rolls her eyes at Aaron.

“You say that as if you aren’t miles and miles away from yours.”

Aaron freezes in his tracks, and drops his hand from Theodosia’s waist.

“I’ve never told you _anything_ about that,” Aaron says with alarm.

“You’ve never had to,” Theodosia responds. “I can tell. You have that sort of look about you most days.”

Aaron feels a headache coming. He rubs his temples.

“You’re telling me that I look like a lost puppy, aren’t you?”

Theodosia laughs. “I mean, only occasionally! If it’s any consolation, I most certainly do on certain days.”

Aaron chuckles darkly and lets his hands fall from his face.

“Great. Just great. Lovely.” Aaron mutters.

Theodosia sighs again, but she sounds happier this time. She leans against the column and looks at Aaron.

“The feeling passes,” she says. “But, it returns every time.”

Theodosia turns away from Aaron and leans against the rail, staring out at the woods behind the house. Aaron frowns at her, and walks over to stand next to her.

“If you know that you’ll feel a certain way while you’re away from him,” Aaron begins, “why choose to stay away?”

“The same reason you’re choosing to stay away from yours,” Theodosia answers.

Aaron’s face burns. “I highly doubt you’re having the same _issues_ with your soulmate.”

Theodosia shrugs. “I suppose I assume your soulmate is someone who isn’t quite fit for you right now, whether because of something going on with them or something going on with you.”

Aaron thinks of Alexander’s face when Aaron told him he was leaving; he shuts his eyes against the image.

Theodosia continues. “My husband is my soulmate. He said my words a long time ago. And we’ve been married for quite some time, as well. But I’ve learned that we’re sometimes not the best person for one another.”

Aaron forces his eyes back open and looks at Theodosia. Her eyes look distant, and her face is turning red.

“A few years ago, I became very ill. Very, _very_ ill. In fact, it’s a miracle that I became better,” Theodosia says. Her voice begins to shake. “James was perfect for me during that time. But, in the time after I got better, I became angry at the fact that I was ill to begin when. And in that time I was angry, I wasn’t a very good fit for him. I was actually being harmful to him.”

Aaron looks at Theodosia and feels another sort of ache. He starts to imagine her being frail, ill and hateful, and the thoughts are painful.

“When this war started,” Theodosia says, “he and I fell on different sides of the issue. We both have our opinions. And I get pretty passionate about my opinions. We realized that, during this war and all the duties he’s taken on, we would not be the best fit for one another once again.”

Aaron frowns, his eyebrows knitted together.

“So . . . your marriage to James . . . it’s . . .?”

Theodosia gives him a small smile.

“There’s not a word for it, I suppose? I understand if he’s with someone else during these types of times, and he understands if I do the same. We eventually come back to one another. We always do. I imagine all soulmates do.”

Inexplicable tears spring to Aaron’s eyes. He feels hot all over. Even the ground beneath his feet feels too warm.

“Why are you telling me this?”

Theodosia looks up at him. For the first time since Aaron’s known her, she looks nervous.

“I’m telling you this because I’ve grown quite fond of you, Aaron,” Theodosia says. “And I can’t keep but wonder if the feeling is mutual.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOOK WHO FINALLY UPDATED HER THING.

Theodosia doesn’t say anything when she sees the marks around Aaron’s words. 

Aaron didn’t really expect her to immediately say anything. She’s pretty sensitive, so it’s not like she’s going to immediately question him about them. 

But still, he thought they were going to scare her; it’s not like many men or women are rushing to be with someone who digs their nails into their own skin or stab themselves with quills. Aaron’s not very sure of much anymore, but he’s pretty sure most others haven’t tried to mutilate the skin where their words are. 

But Theodosia never says anything or asks any questions, not even after the first time they sleep together. She wraps her arms around Aaron’s waist, and he buries his face in the crook of her neck. He feels her breast against his chest and, for a moment, Aaron nearly forgets about the scars he was so concerned about. 

It’s only much later at night that Aaron feels Theodosia gently trace her finger along the line of a scar. But she never  _ says _ anything.

Which is very good, because Aaron can’t begin to explain the self-mutilation on his leg. To explain the scars to explain what exactly is so bad about his words, and his soulmate. Even if Theodosia isn’t scared off by the obvious defect of Aaron’s mind, she’ll surely run for the hills at the sexual perversion. 

Sometimes . . . . sometimes Aaron thinks he’s making some sort of progress when it comes to his sexuality. Sometimes he can think of Alexander and John and not feel repulsed at himself. But then there are times where he remembers his sister playfully imitating their grandfather’s sermons, jokingly talking about the fire and brimstone that await the perverted and worldly. 

His sister, as religious as she is, remembered their grandfather’s holy rage and always thought his fervor was a tad bit silly. Aaron never did, though; he was too scared out of his mind to find anything about it “silly.” 

**

Aaron makes bad decisions. He can accept that about himself now.

Aaron can’t make an excuse for sleeping with a married woman, especially not one whose husband is her soulmate. Theodosia is committed to another--and so is Aaron. Every path of logic leads Aaron to ending this relationship.

But he’s denying all paths of logic, because logic has never done him any good and never will. He can accept that about himself, as well. 

Aaron’s supposes that he should feel like a fling, right? That’s essentially what he is to Theodosia: someone to fill the hole her soulmate’s left. She’s using him, isn’t she? 

But he’s using her, as well: she’s helping him run from reality, in a way. Aaron feels far, far away from his pain when he’s in her arms. Theodosia does, too. Aaron helps her relieve the stress and anxiety coming from the war and the government’s constant surveillance of the Hermitage. They have and hold each other in ways no other person can right now. It’s the best thing Aaron can ask for in this moment. He knows it won’t last--of course he does. 

But Aaron’s trying to teach himself to live in this moment. He has to. The ones before this don’t are too hard and the ones after are not guaranteed. 

**

When Aaron is 23 and has been carrying on with Theodosia Prevost for several months, he gets the letter.

There are many ironies happening at once when he receives it. For one, he’s actually at the Hermitage, sitting next to Theodosia when the mail carrier comes. Aaron’s familiar enough to the place that people expect to find him there, but not so familiar that his relationship with Theodosia has become apparent. The mail carrier seems to know where Aaron is without thinking it odd. 

The next irony is that Aaron and Theodosia are actually discussing the war with two professors. While, Theodosia is discussing it. Even after all this time, Aaron likes to keep his words close to his chest. So he listens to her. Yes, she definitely agrees that they should try to take a stand further inland, because going further and further outwards has only thinned-out their food supply. No, the British armed forces are not operating in an “unpredictable” manner, they’ve just been doing this much longer. 

Yes, the army needs more men. It always needs more men. 

The mail carrier hands Aaron the letter and then scurries away. Aaron’s about to open it when one of the professors asks Theodosia’s opinion on Alexander Hamilton. 

Aaron freezes. He puts the letter down on the table next to him and tries to fix his face. Besides him, Theodosia shifts very slightly: she knows something’s wrong with Aaron. But she says nothing. 

“I’ve heard he’s a bit of a firecracker,” Theodosia says casually. “But if the last few fronts are indeed the work of him supporting Marquis de Lafayette, he seems to be a fine option for a command. At least  _ he  _ won’t massacre his own army.” 

Both men frown deeply and one squirms. Aaron’s stomach drops, and starts to feel like he can’t breathe.

“I’d say Lee was a special type of incompetent,” Theodosia continues, “so almost anyone is better. But Hamilton and Lafayette seem to know what they’re doing.”

“But what of his . . . morality?” One of the professor presses. 

“His morality?”

“Well, yes, his . . . well, his  _ reputation _ has included some unsavory tidbits,” the other professor chimes in. 

Theodosia gives both men a bored look, but Aaron can see the curiosity in her eyes.

“I suppose I wouldn’t know about any issues of that sort,” Theodosia says. 

Both professors look at Aaron. Aaron bites the inside of his cheek, and then he smiles slyly.

“I wouldn’t either,” Aaron says smoothly. “Gossip, I’m afraid, isn’t a talent of mine.”

Aaron can feel himself begin to twitch when he remembers the letter on the table. An escape.

“Excuse me,” he says politely. 

He picks up the letter and makes his way outside. Thank goodness. He’ll read anything just as long it gets him away from that conversation.

But then Aaron actually opens it, and there lies the final, harshest irony. The letter is from General George Washington. 

**

“You have to go.”

Aaron doesn’t look over to Theodosia, keeping his eyes to the ceiling. He thinks about Washington’s proposal--the fact that Washington wants him  _ back _ \--and he shuts his eyes. 

Theodosia moves closer to him.

“Aaron,” she says firmly. 

“ _ Theo _ .”

Theodosia sighs, and Aaron squeezes his eyes tighter. Eventually, he feels Theodosia’s warm hand on his chest, right over where his heart beats. 

“Are you really going to let some excitable little man chase you away from your duty?”

Aaron goes limp.

“I have to ask,” Aaron says, his eyes still closed, “ _ how  _ did you know that?”

Aaron feels Theodosia shrug.

“Your reaction earlier . . . when they were talking about him . . .”

“And you didn’t feel the need to run away? You still got in bed with me tonight?”

“I mean . . . I can think of far worse things. Especially if he’s your soulmate.”

Aaron opens his eyes. When he looks over to Theodosia, she’s tearing up.

“It’s not that I  _ want  _ you to go,” Theodosia says, “it’s that I think you need to. It’s what you really want.”

Aaron’s tempted to tell her that the only thing he really wants to stare at her face all night, lie next to her and forget everything else exists. But that’s not the truth, and they both know it.

Aaron rolls over onto his side to face her. 

“You know that, if I leave and this war ends, this will be the last time you and I are together like this?”

Theodosia nods and smiles sadly.

“Then I guess we should hold this moment, yes?”

Theodosia touches Aaron’s face; he gently lays a hand on her thigh, using his thumb to trace small circles.

In the morning, he’ll respond to Washington’s letter. A few days after that he’ll go and meet the Continental Army again. And for a long time after that, he’ll read Theodosia’s letters and feel a new ache. 

But for now, he’ll just lie here. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, Aaron was actually around 25-ish when the Battle of Yorktown took place. Also, Aaron Burr never actually returned to the army after retiring to look after his health. Buuuut I never said I was writing anything remotely close to historically accurate, so......

Everything is pure chaos.

Aaron barely has to time to breathe when he arrives. Everything’s a blur of new, 18-year-old faces, supplies rolling in and out, tents. Before Aaron can get a word out, he’s being taken to Washington’s quarters.

Washington’s too stressed to be warm with Aaron; he’s now thoroughly convinced that Yorktown can be the last stand they need to drive the British away. He’s got Lafayette waiting at Chesapeake Bay, Hercules Mulligan has just arrived as well, and John Laurens will be going to South Carolina before dawn tomorrow.

And Alexander’s been given the command.

Aaron will be given a tent, but it’s best not to get too comfortable because they’ll be on the move in two days. The clothes will be too big for him but who cares as long as they protect them. Aaron better remember how to shoot, because they cannot waste one single shot. Wasting one shot could mean the end of your fucking life.

Before Aaron can ask one question, he’s pulled into an old house and herded into the living room.

“Strategy meeting,” some man whispers to him. “They want us to strike in a week or so.”

The room’s so crowded that Aaron feels like he might suffocate. He scans the room for familiar faces; he sees a few men from before he left. But there’s no point in kidding himself. Aaron knows who he’s looking for.

Then Aaron spots them both. Alexander and John walk in, carefully nudging men out of their way. Since it’s Alexander’s command, he’s the one to address the crowd.

When they make their way to front of the room, both Alexander and John look directly at Aaron. Aaron’s chest tightens, but he smiles. He can’t help but smile.

“Alright men,” Alexander says, his voice booming. “I know we’re all excited. If things go our way, this war will be over this time next week. But I don’t want that excitement to make you forget about what we’re prioritizing in our formation. We stand _together_ \--stay close to one another. United front.”

Men in the room nod and murmur in affirmation. Aaron sees John frown a little bit and feels his own stomach start to sink. John won’t be with the rest of them, and it’s bothering him. It’s bothering all three of them.

“As for the shooting,” Alexander continues, “I’ve decided the best way to keep ourselves safe and retain our scarce ammunition .  . . is to take to bullets out of our guns before we march to Yorktown and reload when we get there.”

The soldiers are confused. Aaron can see them looking around, trying to gauge if Alexander is serious.

“Um, Hamilton? Won’t that make us an easy target?” One man asks. “I can’t imagine we’ll be very safe walking around unarmed.”

“You won’t be _unarmed_ ,” John inserts, “your gun just won’t be loaded. You still have protection. Besides, we’re moving at night, which the British seem to be averse to.”

Alexander nods curtly, giving John a smile small.

“Exactly,” Alexander says. “We’re moving undercover and we’re moving as one. And we need to move _silently_.”

“But what’s the bullets got to do with anything?” Someone else pushes. “Why are we sacrificing having loaded weapons?”

Okay, Aaron’s a little annoyed now. Alexander’s idea is actually pretty brilliant, and these men are doomed if they don’t get why. To be honest, Aaron’s also getting agitated at the fact men feel comfortable challenging Alexander’s command.

“Because handling loaded guns in the dead of night while we’re mobile is a recipe for one of those guns going _off_ ,” Aaron explains.

Aaron feels the entire room looking at him. For once, the attention fuels him.

Aaron continues, “Earlier today, I was being lectured on why it’s imperative that we waste no bullets. I was being told we have faulty weapons that need careful handling. Do you really want to risk a gun going off while we’re marching to Yorktown? It’d be a waste of a bullet, one of _us_ might get hurt, and we’d wake up our sleeping British friends.”

More murmuring, this time in agreement. Aaron can see men shrugging and nodding their hands.

Alexander clears his throat, and everyone stares over at him again.

“So, we’re all in agreement, yes? Take the bullets out of your gun.”

The room answers with a resounding “Yes sir!” After a few more minutes, soldiers start to file out, to prepare themselves for the week ahead. Aaron doesn’t move; he leans against the wall and watches everyone else walk out.

Really, there’s no point in Aaron going anywhere. He already knows his _friends_ want a word.

**

It’s amazing how quickly Alexander and John can go from upright military men to childlike goofs. The two of them rush into Aaron to give him some sort of two-fold bear hug. They almost knock Aaron onto the ground.

“You both realize . . . this is inappropriate, right?” Aaron huffs out, trying not to swallow a mouthful of John’s long hair. “I . . . need my limbs, gentlemen!”

They untangle themselves from Aaron and look at him with broad grins. Aaron looks at them and feels sudden urge to wrap his arms around them both again, just so he can know that nothing bad will happen to them. Aaron should be afraid of that thought; he should be afraid of his very excitement about seeing them both. He can faintly hear his grandfather’s words in the back of his mind.

But, for whatever reason, Aaron doesn’t feel compelled to listen.

John nudges Aaron in the ribs and gives him a toothy grin.

“Hey, I’m just amazed you’re back, is all. I thought Alexander was being overly optimistic!”  A thick Southern-state accent permeates his words.

The sound of John’s makes Aaron chuckles. “Are you practicing that accent for South Carolina? So you can sneak right in.”

John rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “Can’t practice what I’ve always had! I’ve just been hiding it from you Northern types.”  John looks over at Alexander and starts to snicker.

“I’ll have you know, dear Laurens, that I am not, nor have I ever been, a ‘Northern type,’” Alexander says, feigning offense. “I am, first and foremost, a proud immigrant!”

Aaron chuckles softly, looking between the two of them. They’ve only seemed to grow closer, if that was at all possible. But Aaron no longer feels left out. Right now, the three of them standing in a rickety house on the edge of major warfare feels . . . right.

Aaron looks at John again and realizes just how far South Carolina really is.

“How long will you be gone?” Aaron asks somberly.

John shrugs. “Till my job is done, I suppose. However long that is. I’m not leaving there until I’ve done everything in my power to get people to _listen_ and do something about slavery.”

Aaron swallows the lump forming in his throat. He’s proud of John. He really is. It’s just . . .

Aaron looks at Alexander and sees a mirror image of himself; concern is all over Alexander’s face.

John looks at the both of them in turn and rolls his eyes again.

“Oh, don’t go giving me that look, Aaron. I’ve been getting it enough from Alex,” John says.

“We just want you to come back in one piece,” Alexander says.

“Or even if you’re not in one piece; coming back period is fine with me,” Aaron inserts, earning a whack on the arm from Alexander.

“Burr, I would like to _encourage_ John to keep all of his limbs!”

Aaron shrugs. “That seems like a lofty demand at this point. I’m fine with settling for him being alive.”

“You two are foolish,” John slings an arm around each man, pulling them both closer. “I swear to come back both alive _and_ with all of my limbs intact. Is that alright?”

Aaron and Alexander stare at one another. Then Aaron’s eyes slide back to John’s beaming face.

“That’s perfectly fine, John Laurens.”

**

Aaron’s very grateful to not have a tent-mate. Otherwise, he would’ve kept the poor man up all night with his tossing and turning. The knowledge that John would be gone by sunrise kept Aaron awake _all night_.

It’s not that Aaron doesn’t have faith in John. It’s that he knows that there are an infinite amount of possibilities regarding John’s safety. And it seemed that every single bad one would pop into Aaron’s mind whenever he tried to sleep.

Aaron very nearly left his tent altogether at one point. But that would’ve been a terrible idea, because he would’ve gone directly to Alexander.

Aaron _knows_ Alexander didn’t sleep a wink, either. He couldn’t have, not with the same knowledge that Aaron has. Aaron and Alexander are much too aware of how easy it is to lose the person you love. Aaron doesn’t want Alexander to feel that pain again.

Moreover, _Aaron_ doesn’t want to feel that pain again.

Beams of sunlight find their way through the thinning fabric of Aaron’s tint. He can feel the warmth on his sky as he tosses yet again. Aaron wonders how far away John’s gotten.

Well . . .  it’s probably time for Aaron to _completely_ honest with himself, isn’t it? Aaron’s rapidly losing the need to understand himself or be scared of himself. John might not come back, Aaron and Alexander may die in a few day’s time, and there’s really no point in pretending that Aaron’s feelings for John are entirely dependent on _Alexander_ ’ _s_ wellbeing. Aaron’s been ignoring something very obvious ever since he and John ended up in that infirmary together; ever since he watched John duel the man that almost killed them.

No use in pretending anymore. No use in running from it or demanding answers. It just . . . is.

**

When the sun starts to rise higher in the sky, Aaron actually does leave his tent.

He sees a few men stirring and milling about, but, for the most part, Aaron’s alone. Aaron’s never been one to wander about, but this morning feels uncharacteristically slow. The sun’s just barely in the sky, and there’s still a coolness on the wind. The quiet would scare Aaron if he hadn’t spent forever yearning for it.

Aaron doesn’t think about where he’s walking; he just allows his feet to carry him. But, still, it’s no surprise when he realizes that he’s headed to the house.

It surprises him even less to see Alexander sitting on the porch, his tired eyes staring out a head of him.

“Alexander.” Aaron’s voice shakes.

Alexander blinks, and his eyes go wide. He looks like a child that’s been caught red-handed.

“Burr? Wh-what are you doing up so early?”

“Does it count as being up ‘early’ if one never went to sleep?”

“Ah, okay, yeah. No, no it doesn’t,” Alexander laughs shakily.

So, he’s nervous too. Huh. Aaron can’t help but feel a little soothed by Alexander’s shakiness.

Aaron walks onto the porch and sits in the chair directly next to Alexander. Alexander, his face slightly read, smiles at him warmly.

“What kept you up all night?”

Might as well be honest: “John.”

Alexander blinks rapidly, and now his face is red all over.

“Wh-what do you mean?”

Aaron shrugs. “I mean . . . John going to South Carolina, not knowing how long he’ll be there. I can’t help but worry about the poor fool.”

Alexander chuckles softly. The sun’s finally deciding to be warm; Aaron can it feel touching his skin. He closes his against the brightening light. And even with his eyes shut, Aaron can feel Alexander’s eyes on his face.

“Is there a reason you’re staring at me, Alexander?”

Alexander chuckles softly again, then he sighs.

“It’s just a little weird to have you back,” Alexander answers. “I mean, I keep thinking of the day you left . . . despite what John says, I don’t think I was ‘overly’ optimistic about you returning . . .”

Aaron opens his eyes slowly and stares out at the fields before him. This place looks just like the fields on Monmouth, which looked like the fields of Quebec. War makes everything look the same, except, perhaps, the people in it.

“It was good for me to be away for a while,” Aaron says, “but a friend of mine reminded me that I had plans for myself. She reminded me that _this_ is what I should be doing. So when Washington asked . . .”

“A friend of yours?”

“Yes.”

“A woman?”

Aaron looks over at Alexander, who’s trying very hard to look at Aaron innocently.

“Yes, a woman,” Aaron answers with a smirk. “What’s it to you, Alexander?”

Alexander shrugs. “It’s nothing! But John _had_ heard a rumor or two . . .”

Aaron rolls his eyes. “You guys have been in the middle of war and haven’t had anything better to do than listen to gossip about me?”

Alexander nods vigorously. “That’s right!”

Aaron snorts. “Well, you can forget whatever you heard.”

“So . . . you _don’t_ have a girlfriend on the other side?”

“Goodness,” Aaron groans. He wonders if anyone’s approached Theodosia this way, coyly asking about her and Aaron. Not that she would care at all.

Alexander slides closer and bumps his arm against Aaron’s.

“ _Well_?” Alexander asks. Aaron can hear the envy Alexander’s trying to hide.

Aaron bites the inside of his cheek. Might as well have a little bit of fun.

“Well, yes, I did,” Aaron answers. “But I’m afraid the relationship was unlawful.”

Alexander frowns in befuddlement. “What do you mean?”

“She’s married.”

Aaron watches as Alexander’s eyes go as wide as two dinner plates.

“Oh, I see,” Alexander stammers.

Aaron decides to have a little bit more fun.

“She’s married to a British officer.”

“OH SHIT.” Alexander slaps his hand over his mouth as if the action will retract the yell he just let out.

Aaron cracks up; he laughs so hard that his body starts to shake.

Alexander looks at Aaron as if he’s never met this strange man. “So, you’re joking, then?!”

Aaron shakes his head. “No. Not joking at all. In fact, her husband’s the governor of Georgia now.”

“ _Aaron Burr, you did not sleep with a British governor’s wife,_ ” Alexander whispers fiercely.

Aaron looks at Alexander’s scandalized face and shrugs.

“It was only a few times . . . over the course of a few months.”

Alexander looks at Aaron and shakes his head slowly.

“I . . . will never understand you, Burr,” Alexander says. “You’re never going to stop surprising me, huh?”

“I sure hope not. Otherwise, you might get bored of me.”

Alexander shakes his head again. The light from the rising sun makes Alexander’s bouncing hair shine.

“That’s not even possible, Aaron. I could never get bored of you.”

**

The closer they get to Yorktown, the more Aaron’s stomach hurts.

Perhaps he’s been downplaying how extraordinarily stressful this all would be. Perhaps the ever-changing temperatures that accompany the fall of winter and the rise of spring is starting to mess with them. Perhaps Aaron’s feeding off of the terrified energy that is radiating off of the other soldiers. However it happens, Aaron feels pain that’s nearly crippling.

His chest feels tight, like someone’s reaching inside of him and squeezing every day they move forward. Aaron was the main one talking about having to be careful with the faulty guns, but most days, he can’t keep his hands steady; something vibrating underneath his skin makes his entire body shake.

Death hangs over Aaron. Death has always draped itself over him. But now it feels suffocating.

**

They are only a few miles outside of Yorktown when Aaron sleepwalks directly into Hercules Mulligan’s back.

“You might want to wake up, Aaron,” Hercules says with a chuckle. “I’d hate to see you sleep fighting in battle.”

“I doubt I’d sleep through battle,” Aaron says. “Surely all the bullets flying past my head would wake me up.”

Hercules laughs loudly, earning an annoyed look from a soldier. Hercules makes a mean face at the young soldier, and the soldier quickly faces the front again.

Aaron studies Hercules’s relaxed demeanor. “You don’t seem very nervous at all, Hercules.”

Hercules shrugs, then frowns at the way his gun bumps against his shoulders.

“I got through spying on the British government and made my way back here. If I can do _that_ , I should be able to carry myself through this final battle.”

Aaron nods. “So, where are you going to go after this? What will you do?”

Hercules smiles languidly, his eyes taking on a dreamy look.

“I’m going to France.”

“Wait-- _France_? Don’t tell me all that elitist talk has pulled you in, as well.”

“No, no, it hasn’t,” Hercules answers with a laugh.

“Then why France, exactly?”

Hercules slows his walk and looks at Aaron as if Aaron were a child.

“That’s where Lafayette will be, Aaron.”

 _Oh, right_. Yes.

Hercules continues, “Lafayette and I aren’t the type that can be too far apart, I’ve discovered. I was out of sorts the entire time I was spying.”

Aaron tries to covertly look at the men around them, wondering if any of them are eavesdropping on what Hercules is saying. Hercules looks at Aaron like he’s gone daft, and then snorts.

“I stopped worrying about the law a long time ago,” Hercules says. “And I stopped worrying about my feelings a long time before that. I figured if I’m going to die--to be killed, or executed--it might as well be worth it.”

Hercules shrugs again, then gives Aaron a small smile. Aaron looks at his friend’s face and sees the slightest trace of fear. Aaron smiles back.

**

Alexander gives them all advice that night: don’t shoot until you see the whites of their eyes.

Aaron holds onto as the night slowly gives way to morning. It may be the only way he’ll see Alexander and John again.

The words turn over and over again in his head, causing him to stay awake when he should be sleeping. Aaron sits outside of his test, his bayonet at his feet, staring out at the fields ahead of him. They look the same as every other field. But, for many, this will be the last field they stand on.

The sun peeks over the horizon. In the distance, Aaron can hear movement. It’s time.

**

_Don’t shoot until you see the whites of their eyes._

Okay. So far, that’s been saving Aaron’s ass.

It’s almost become a routine: shoot, run, hide, reload. Shoot, run, hide, reload.

Aaron doesn’t even feel the ground anymore; he’s hit it so much that his body has become immune to the shock. He’s bruised, bloodied and he probably needs a medic, but there’s no time. Aaron’s got to keep moving.

He has _no_ idea how many men he’s shot or even how many he’s stabbed. He moves through crowds of men, feeling pain as he goes. Aaron can literally see bullets fly past him. Smoke fills his throat, and his eyes feel like they might be on fire.

But he’s _got_ to keep moving. Because as long as he’s on his feet, he’s still alive.

Aaron takes a shot and then he runs. Shit, he needs to hide to reload. Aaron spots a twisted tree and rushes towards it.

Out of nowhere, Aaron feels an elbow in his side and a searing, burning pain on his inner left thigh. He’s been cut.

Aaron stumbles backwards and trips over his own feet. He falls to the ground, landing flat on his back. So much for staying on his feet.

The man who cut him seems to materialize in front of him. He’s a large man with a red beard and a face covered in bruises and, for a moment, Aaron wonders how in the world he missed him.

The man raises the bayonet to stab Aaron. Aaron looks him deeply in the eyes. The man looks scared.

Suddenly, the man freezes; a blood stain rapidly spreads across his chest, and he falls to the ground, landing right next to Aaron.

Alexander stands in the spot where the man was. Without saying a word, he reaches down for Aaron. Aaron and Alexander grip each other’s forearms. Neither man moves; it’s as if every other person on that field has vanished.

“Aaron . . .”

They hear a loud cry, once that cuts through the sound of gunfire.

“ _Surrender! They’re surrendering!”_

Surrender.

Alexander pulls Aaron off of the ground, and they face in the direction of the voice. In the distance, they see a young man--a British soldier--waving a white handkerchief.

All around them, what remains of the British forces lay their weapons down. Black and White soldiers alike all stop and look at one another.

Aaron and Alexander stare at one another. Then Alexander smiles.

“We won.”

**

Preliminary negotiations take two more weeks before General Washington is satisfied. It’ll take months for all of the British forces to either relocate or find jobs and new lives in the states. American forces are still on security details and abolition work, which means, for the foreseeable future, John is still stuck in South Carolina.

It’s not all over yet. But they’ve won. And they’re alive.

**

Aaron purposefully waits until everyone else had begun to leave to pack up what little belongings he had. Aaron honestly did not want to try to travel back up to New York with hoards of still-drunk American soldiers.  

As far as Aaron knows, it’s just himself, General Washington and a couple of others still hanging about.

But of course Alexander is, too. He’s waiting for Aaron. He sits on the stairs of the old house, a bag slung over his shoulder, staring up at the stars.

Aaron, a man who’s just faced death, is nervous. He walks over to Alexander.

“Hello, Alexander.”

Alexander looks up at Aaron, as calm and quiet as Aaron will ever see him.

“Well, if it isn’t Aaron Burr, sir.”

Aaron chuckles and sits down.

“You and I _have_ to stop meeting like this,” Aaron says.

Alexander snorts and nods. Then he looks at Aaron again, his eyes dreamy.

“Can you believe this? Any of it?” Alexander asks softly. “It’s like the world’s turned upside down.”

Aaron shakes his head. “No. None of it. But, to be fair, I haven’t been able to believe much of anything I’ve experienced in the past year or so.”

“No kidding.”

They fall silent, sitting in their awe.

“Aaron,” Alexander says slowly.

“Yes?”

“There’s something . . . I mean, there’s something you and I need to talk about. Something we’ve always needed to talk about, I think.”

Aaron fixes his eyes on the stars above them and feels a lump form in his throat.

Alexander keeps talking: “I mean . . . you know how I told you that I kept thinking about the day you left? About how it felt when you left?”

Aaron bites the inside of his cheek. He nods.

“You were angry with me,” Aaron responds, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Angry, right,” Alexander says breathlessly. “And hurt and confused. And John and I both . . . we were . . . out of sorts the entire time. It felt like something in our relationship had gone awry without you.”

Aaron wants to make a joke right now. He wants to say something to break the tension that’s starting to suffocate him. But Aaron can’t even open his mouth right now.

“Even after . . . even after John said my words and I said his . . . there was still something missing. John and I argued about it time and time again. We argued about _you_ time and time again.”

“Me.” It’s not a question; Aaron barely says it at all.

Alexander nods. “Yes. We already knew we needed you, but we didn’t--or, I guess, we _couldn’t_ \--know how much. Or-or _why_.”

Tears finally start to fall down Aaron’s face.

“And did you ever figure it out?”

Alexander looks at Aaron, his eyes dark and heavy. Gently, he touches Aaron’s wrist.

“Aaron .  . . when did I say your words?”

Aaron laughs a broken laugh. Alexander frowns deeply, his eyes shining with his own tears.

“Alexander, you said my words the very first time I met you,” Aaron explains. “ ‘If you stand for nothing, Burr, what will you fall for?’ They're on my calf. And you said them the first time we ever met.”

“The . . . the _first time_?” Alexander whispers incredulously. “All this time? And you never said anything?”

“That can’t _possibly_ be surprising to you,” Aaron retorts. “Come on now, Alex. I didn’t think it was possible for me to have a man as a soulmate. Worse yet, I saw you and John together and . . . I realized you were meant for him instead of me.”

“But that’s the thing, Aaron! I’m not meant for _only_ John!” Alexander exclaims. “And I don’t think John is only meant for me!”

“Oh, my goodness, Alexander,” Aaron groans. His entire body deflates. He could lie right here and sleep for centuries. “You say that like it’s so simple. Like it hasn’t taken a world of pain and confusion to get here. I don’t think I can ever explain the hell I’ve put myself through trying to find some sense of normalcy in all of this.”

Alexander slides his hand from Aaron’s wrist to his hand. Gently, Aaron takes Alexander’s hand.

“I can tell you that you weren't the only one scared and confused,” Alexander says softly. “I thought it was impossible, too.”

Aaron looks down at his and Alexander’s intertwined fingers. It looks right.

“I--I don’t know nearly as much as I thought I did, Aaron. Everything I thought I knew has been proven wrong at some point,” Alexander says. “But you know what I _do_ know? I know that I love you. I love, and I love John. And, if John were here, he’d make a sarcastic remark about being in love with the both of us. We just need to know if you’ll have us both.”

The world’s turned upside down.

“You know that it’s going to be the most complicated thing any of us have ever done, right?” Aaron whispers, tears covering his face. “Far more complicated than any war could ever be.”

Alexander gently reaches up and wipes the tears off of Aaron’s face. “Well, you’re worth more than any country, so we’re willing to work for you, Aaron Burr. It’s just a matter of, you know, if you _want_ this. Because I totally understand it’s just too much or--”

“Alexander,” Aaron gets as close to Alexander as he possibly get. Aaron can count each of Alexander’s eyelashes. “Talk less.”

Before Aaron loses his nerve, he kisses Alexander like it’s the last thing either of them will ever do. He lets his body melt into Alexander’s warmth and feels the lines between Aaron Burr and Alexander Hamilton blur.

Alexander pulls back from the kisses and stares at Aaron with wide eyes. Then he grins broadly.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS IT. IT'S THE END. I FINALLY FINISHED WHAT I STARTED.

Being with Alexander Hamilton and John Laurens is both infinitely easier and infinitely harder than Aaron had imagined.

It’s a secret: of _course_ it’s a secret. Aaron can’t allow himself to imagine what would happen should someone find out that the three of them are in a relationship. Aaron’s the master of keeping secrets, but it’s harder to behave like his “usual” self now that he and Alexander are able to anxiously await John’s return _together_.

Aaron yearns for the day he and Alexander can walk through the street with fingers laced together, but there’s no way that will happen. Not in this lifetime.

Also . . .  Alexander’s terrible at this. Keeping secrets. He’s only keeping this one because he knows all of their lives depend on it. But Aaron’s had to rewrite all of Alexander’s letters to John because Alexander hasn’t mastered the art of tactful flirtation. His language is so flowery that he’s just _begging_ for one of the mail carriers to read it and have them all arrested.

They have the same argument about it every day.

“John should know how much we love him.”

“John can know that without risking all of our lives, Alexander.”

“Your letters sound more business than personal.”

“Well, then, the carriers won’t be suspicious, will they?”

“The carriers should mind their business.”

“They’re in the army. Our letters _are_ their business.”

And Alexander looks up at Aaron with eyes that look like a puppy’s because he hasn’t accepted the fact that that particular tactic doesn’t work so well on Aaron. And Aaron tries to use his slick attorney voice on Alexander because he often forgets that _that_ tactic doesn’t work on Alexander.

Eventually, after about three or four months, they reach a compromise: Alexander agrees to write less affectionately, while Aaron works on being more affectionate. It’ll give Aaron more practice, since he doesn’t write to many people. Aside from obligatory letters to Aaron’s siblings, Aaron really only cares to write to John.

Well, he writes to Theodosia, as well, but that’s only because she demands “updates” about him. He was, for some reason, nervous about how she’d respond when told her about his new relationship. Luckily, Theodosia was so happy for him that she had flowers sent to his new office. Aaron was only mildly embarrassed until Alexander saw them. Alex spent the rest of the day teasing Aaron about his “illegal girlfriend” as if they’re relationship is any less illegal.

It’s all very strange. But it works.

**

“Alexander. I need you to focus--”

“I _am_ focused.”

“On the _case_ , Alex. On the case.”

It is a very complicated one, after all. Property dispute between families that have been generations at war with each other. Countersuit after countersuit, written statement after written statement. It’s one that can take forever to parse out. Plus, it’ll be very good for Alexander’s rapidly widening reputation. It’s not as if Alexander is lazy by any stretch of the imagination. Actually, Alexander is obsessive and works too hard most of the time. Aaron thought he’d dive headfirst into this case.

But the only thing Alexander seems interested in diving headfirst into is Aaron’s lap.

Aaron knew working next door to Alexander was a bad idea.  But Alexander, blessed with the gift of gab, talked Aaron into it.

Aaron and Alexander sit at Alexander’s desk now, with Aaron glaring over at Alexander with as much disinterest as he can muster. It’s not much, but he’s trying.

Alexander shoves his chair over so that he can be as close to Aaron as he can get. He drapes an arm around Aaron and lays his head on Aaron’s shoulder.

“You said you’d help me,” Alexander says with a pout, blinking at Aaron innocently.

“ _If_ you needed help,” Aaron says with a chuckle. “But you clearly don’t. You just want to use me as some sort of pillow.”

“Don’t call yourself a pillow, Aaron! You’re a beautiful human being with amazingly warm skin.”

“ . . . You’re going to end up with a crick in your neck for laying on me this way.”

“It shall be worth it!”

Aaron snorts, then very carefully stands up from his chair. Alexander groans and rolls his eyes.

“ _Fine_ , then, refuse me affection! I guess I’ll just wither away in front of endless amounts of paper.”

“Oh please! You live for these kinds of things,” Aaron says. “All you do is read and write.”

“And make love to you!”

“Alexander!”

“What? I guarantee you no one heard me say that.”

Aaron makes a show of rubbing his temples.

“You know, I vaguely recall Philip Schuyler telling you that you needed to ‘settle down’ sometimes.”

Alexander scoffs. “And you thought I’d listen to him? He’s a stiff! Besides, he didn’t mean it that way. He meant that he’s still surprised I didn’t try to marry Eliza.”

“I don’t think I understand that. It’s not like he _wanted_ you as a son-in-law.”

Alexander cuts his eyes at Aaron, glaring at him with faux disdain.

“I’ll have you know that I would be an amazing son-in-law, Aaron Burr. I am a joy!”

“Yeah, _now_ you are, what with the new money and all that,” Aaron responds. “But, when you were broke and dirty . . .”

“You were still tragically in love with me,” Alexander deadpans. “So that says more about you than me, doesn’t it?”

“You know, I think I have my own sad sack of a case I should be working on--”

_“Waaaait!”_

Alexander scrambles out of his chair and, after two giant steps, wraps his arms around Aaron’s waist.

“Please stay. I have a couch, please sit on it,” Alexander says politely. “I’ll be good I promise.”

Aaron smiles warmly. “I wish I could, but I actually do have my own boring case to sift through. I only came in here because you wouldn’t leave me alone.”

Alexander blinks at Aaron, then reluctantly drops his arms from Aaron’s waist. Aaron steps around Alexander and drags himself towards the door.

“You know, I’m gonna tell John how mean you’re being to me.”

“And I’m sure he’ll understand why.”

**

_Aaron,_

_As always, it gives me joy to hear that you are doing well. I know our friend Hamilton is rather rambunctious and keeping up with him can be hard work, so I am glad that you are able to thrive together. Do not worry: I have learned to tell when our dear Hamilton exaggerates._

_I am also glad to say that I can finally see the end to this detail. I have had my fill of war time. It is odd to hear myself say that. But I long to come to my true home, and begin a new life, one that will work towards my ultimate goal. I am very eager to look at a New York sun with the two of you by my side. Do not tell my father, but I suppose I have become allergic to the South Carolina heat._

_Adieu, my dear friend._

**

Aaron smugly shows Alexander his letter from John later on, when they’re tangled up in Aaron’s bed.

Alexander, successfully worn down by Aaron, can only smile languidly and cut his eyes at Aaron.

“Whatever,” Alexander says. “I’ll convince him that you’re mean. He’ll be agreeing with me by the next letter.”

**

But they don’t get the next letter. Or the one afterwards. Or the ones after that.

They have a schedule: the three of them try to exchange letters once a week. Aaron knows that it’s damn near impossible and was an overly-ambitious goal, but they’ve managed to make it. At most, they only missed two or three.

John’s missed the last eight.

**

“Alexander.”

Alexander’s buried in paperwork. Aaron can’t even keep up with all that Alexander’s taken on. He stays in his office most of the time and only ever lets Aaron in. (If Aaron were in a better state of mind, he’d worry about the suspicion they’re raising.) Alexander’s been up to his neck in case files for the past month and a half.

Aaron gets why. He’s tried to do the same thing. He’s just not able to.

“I’m busy.” Alexander’s voice is cold, detached. Nothing like he usually sounds.

Aaron takes a deep and gingerly sits next to Alexander. Aaron’s fingers twitch, like they always do when Aaron’s stressed out and fighting the urge to dig his nails into his skin.

Patience. This relationship has taught him patience. Patience with Alexander and with himself.

“Alexander,” Aaron says slowly, “not talking about it isn’t going to help.”

Alexander scoffs. “You can’t be seriously saying that. _You_ were the one who told me to ‘talk less.’ Remember that, Aaron? Not talking is a talent of yours.”

Aaron blinks at Alexander and Alexander winces.

“Shit. That shouldn’t have come out of my mouth,” Alexander says, casting his eyes down. “I guess you’re right after all, huh?”

Aaron bites the inside of his cheek, watching as Alexander furiously writes. Alexander’s smaller, tucked in on himself. He looks like a scared animal. Aaron should be mad at him, but Aaron’s own fear is starting to overtake him as well. To be honest, Aaron only has so long before he’s not able to keep up this facade, or any other facade for that matter.

“We’ll get something,” Aaron says tightly. He knows enough to not try to specify _what_ they’ll get or if they’ll like what they get. Aaron . . . he knows not to get their hopes up that high. Not at this point.

Alexander nods once, his eyes never leaving the paper in front of him.

“Yes. We will. We’ll get something.”

**

_On Tuesday the 27th my son was shot in a gunfight against British troops retreating from South Carolina . . ._

**

“Henry Laurens better not fucking speak to us.”

Aaron should, perhaps, reprimand Alexander for saying that. Henry is John’s father after all, and, if it weren’t for Henry’s letter, Aaron and Alexander would’ve assumed that John was dead. Sure, Henry took his sweet time letting them know that John was alive and recovering from an infected gunshot wound, but at least he notified them, right?

…. Yeah, no, Aaron can’t do this. He doesn’t want to even see Henry Lauren’s face when they arrive.

“I doubt he’ll be very interested,” Aaron says, tossing another shirt into Alexander’s bag. “He already hates you, and he doesn’t know me. He’ll probably leave as soon as he sees us.”

“Good,” Alexander spits the word out as if it were a curse. “His is the last face I want to see.”

**

“Gentlemen. I’m glad you could arrive so soon.”

Henry Lauren’s words have all the warmth of the harshest Delaware winter.  He looks very un-glad to see them both. Henry particularly seems un-glad to see Alexander; he keeps cutting his eyes at Alex when he thinks Aaron isn’t noticing. But Aaron is always noticing.

Aaron pulls out the smile he usually saves for certain clients.

“John is a beloved friend of ours,” Aaron says smoothly. “We want to help his recovery in any way we can.”

Henry looks at Aaron with an odd mix of arrogance and skepticism.

“I’m sure you do,” Henry answers. “John is in the room three doors down to the left. Please be brief as you can tonight.”

“We will,” Aaron says politely.

Alexander, to Aaron’s amazement, doesn’t say anything. He just nods curtly to Henry, who nods curtly back before turning on his heels and walking away from them. As soon as Henry is out of their line of sight, Alexander grabs Aaron’s arm and they dash down the hall and into the room Henry indicated.

Sure enough, there’s John, sitting up, skin browner and hair longer than Aaron’s ever seen it.

“Alex! Aaron!” John’s voice squeaks as he looks at them with shock in his eyes. “You actually came?!”

Alex rushes over and wraps his arms around John.

“Of course! We couldn’t leave you down here!”

Ever the pragmatist, Aaron remembers to close the door, frowning when he realizes that he can’t lock it. He wants to create as much space between the three of them and the outside world as possible.

When Aaron turns around, he sees John grinning at him.

“Don’t give me that look, Burr,” John says. “ _You’re_ the one that said you’d settle for me just being alive.”

“And you took me seriously, huh?” Aaron says dryly, sitting down next to John.

John shrugs, then winces. “I do the best I can.”

Aaron frowns. John doesn’t look that bad, all things considered, but he doesn’t look his best. He’ll be down for a while. Worse yet, he’ll be in South Carolina--with that father of his--for a while. It’s maddening. Aaron and Alexander once agreed that Aaron’s dead father and Alexander’s absent somehow did a better job of raising them than Henry Laurens had done of raising John.

Alexander firmly places his hand on Aaron’s shoulder and presses down, like he’s trying to anchor John to the floor.

“Please don’t do that, it looks like you’re pulling at your bandages,” Alexander says, staring intently at the tight bandages wrapped around John’s midsection. “You’re going to end up injuring yourself.”

John chuckles lightly. “You sound like my nurse,” he mutters to Alexander. “I still hurt a little, that’s all.”

“Well, can you blame us for being worried?” Aaron asks gently. “We _did_ almost lose you.”

John turns to face Aaron. His eyes are tired, but still bright.

“I’m not going anywhere just yet, Aaron,” John says lazily. “I’m here for awhile.”

And Aaron . . . stares at John. Before Aaron can stop himself, he starts to laugh wildly. He feels giddy, like a small child who’s had too many sweets.

John looks at Aaron in bewilderment.

“What are you thinking, Burr?” John asks suspiciously.

Alexander leans around, sees the smile on Aaron’s face and raises an eyebrow.

“What’s going on over there?”

Aaron gets as close to John as possible and whispers in his ear.

“You _finally_ said my words, the other ones on my leg,” Aaron whispers.

John’s face lights up and his eyes go wide.

“Are you serious?!” John asks excitedly. But before Aaron can answer, John leans all the way over, nearly crawling into Aaron’s lap, and kisses him as hard as he can.

Aaron is breathless and feels like he’s about to fall flat onto his back. But he’s happy. So, very happy.

“Excuse me!” Alexander cries out, startling John and Aaron apart. “I am feeling very left out! Where are my kisses?!”

“Alex, _please_ don't say ‘ kisses’ that loud!” John says. He’s trying to be serious, but he keeps laughing. “My father is lurking around here somewhere! He’ll hear you!”

“So what?” Alexander challenges. “I don’t fear him! Besides, it’ll take 100 men to make me leave you.”

“Uh, Alex, you’re about 5 feet tall,” Aaron responds. “I’m pretty sure you can be easily removed.”

Alex makes an adorably squeaky noise and points at Aaron as if he’d just caught him stealing.

“See, John, that’s what I was trying to tell you about! He’s being mean!”

John gives Alexander the once-over and smirks.

“Don’t know, Alex, I think Aaron’s right. You’re just barely taller than most children I know.”

Aaron cracks up. Alexander’s jaw drops, and he glares at the both of them.

“And here I was thinking you two loved me like I love you.”

John lays his head on Alexander’s shoulder.

“We do love you, Alex. I swear we do.”

Alexander peers down at John. “ _You_ might,” he says. Then he looks back up at Aaron, a small smile on his face. “I don’t know about this one, though.”

John peeks at Aaron from Alexander’s shoulder and beams. Aaron looks at these two idiots before him; the three of them have become a mess of tangled legs, arms around waists and hair splayed across shoulders and backs.

The three of them have, somehow, survived all death and impossibilities to end up huddled together on the floor of a mansion. Aaron could never have imagined any of it. And yet it is real.

Aaron looks at his lovers. And he smiles.   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was no way I was about to kill John lmao. I never even considered it. I'm still mad he died in real life. 
> 
> Thanks so much to everyone who read and even slightly enjoyed this!!


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